After running various tests on himself under a pseudonym, House went home. He could just as easily be miserable and waiting for test results in a nice warm bed. But the company of ghosts would probably hamper any attempt at sleep. So instead of bothering, he sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Channel-surfing for something interesting soon lead him to settling for the news. It was generally boring, too; only getting his interest when the weather girl said, "Vermont, Delaware and New Jersey can expect power outages."

House muted the television and speed-dialed Cuddy.

"Hello."

"Did we lose power last night?"

"No..."

He hung up again, raising his eyes to Amber's innocent smile.

"Talk to Foreman," Wilson said.

"He's not a neurologist."

"He can still think like one. And you need to talk about this. With a living person."

"Oh, I do not." House dismissively tossed his phone onto the coffee table. Realizing Wilson was laughing again, he lifted his head and locked eyes with the mirage.

"It's unusual," Wilson said. "I die, she dies," he motioned to Amber, "Kutner dies, Thirteen dies, and you still push people away."

"It's in my nature."

"Yes. But you know what's not in your nature? Not learning."

House stared at him for a moment, then began to lay down on the couch. "You're not here. You died in my arms twenty years ago." He closed his eyes.

"Talk to Foreman."

House opened his eyes, but the hallucinations had vanished. House stared at the tree, thinking of his problems until sleep claimed him.


He was awakened several hours later, when there was a knock on the front door. He grabbed his cane and limped to the door, peering through the peephole. The sight made his body tense and he didn't move, wondering how the hell he was going to socialize with the guest, without breaking something.

She knocked again and House opened the door, looking awkwardly at Stacy.

"Hi, Greg."

He turned away and limped inside. "If you're looking for Rebecca, call the team. She's breaking into their homes."

"What'd you do?" she drawled, as she let herself in.

"Nothing. I didn't know."

He couldn't tell if she believed him. "Actually, Lisa called me. She wants my help with Julia's will. And I guess she wanted to torture you at the same time."

House smiled at her and gave a curt nod. "Make yourself comfortable."

She was obviously surprised. "Thank you," she said, and began to walk to the living room. Hearing his zipper, she turned and watched him put on his winter clothes and grab his keys. "What are you doing?"

"Making myself comfortable."

He let himself out and went to his motorbike. Amber stood there, wearing a gray dress with short sleeves. She shook her head, watching him come closer. "You're hallucinating and you want to ride?"

"I'll be fine."

"You're not being responsible. Let's take the bus. You can't kill me again."

"I didn't kill you." He mounted the bike, kicked the stands up and started the motor, angling the bike to face down the driveway. Putting on his helmet he let inertia carry him down the slick driveway, then took the turn and rode away. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't have anywhere to go. It wasn't like he wanted to visit anyone. So he drove aimlessly, trying to forget his cares. And he was doing fine, until he felt a pair of arms sliding around him. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder. Nobody was there, not even a ghost.

And like the sensation had opened a gate, he thought of his MRI, and the test results that were still to come. Halting at a red light, he stared at a road sign that read: TALK TO FOREMAN.

Until someone honked behind him, and he noticed that the light was green. With an empty heart and a full mind, he continued to ride; eventually angling into the parking lot of a strip mall. He walked into a lonely pizza place and sat down at a booth. As he ate, he looked outside at the increasing wind. It had started snowing again. By the time he exited the building, it had become a blizzard. He put on his helmet and mounted the bike, feeling a twinge of concern at his own situation.

He floored it, driving homeward. He constantly had to reach up and wipe the blowing snow off the shield over his face. Finally, he gunned it up the driveway; willing to admit that he should have taken the bus. He grabbed his cane and went inside, looking at Cuddy's instantly relaxed face. And his phone, lying forgotten on the coffee table. She was instantly in front of him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Stupid of me to drive in a blizzard."

Now she didn't look so relaxed.

"What is it?"

"It's not snowing, House."